


The Fowl is next

by FrancisEdwards



Category: Original Work
Genre: I'm Sorry, dark and bloody, full of gore.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancisEdwards/pseuds/FrancisEdwards
Summary: All she had known was peace and quiet. For 15 years she had lived on this plain of existence, nothing broke that calm.Then all hell broke loose.





	The Fowl is next

All she had known was peace and quiet. For the 15 years she had lived on this plain of existence, nothing broke that calm.

Then all hell broke loose.

It started dead on the witching hour. Ground shattering screams echoed through the empty corridors of the castle, rattling windows with their force as the residents of this hallowed ground were wrenched from sleep.

Pounding footsteps and shouts of confusion could finally be heard as the screams died with a hacking cough that reverberated through her bones. And just as she turned the corner she saw it.

Blood.

So much blood. It drenched the walls and floor, as if it had washed through in a flood that had entered every crevice that cramped space held. But, upon further observation, she saw that it ended in exact lines, as if an invisible barrier stopped it from invading the sanctity of the rest of the castle.  
Observing further she saw how the horror truly unfolded.

The blood had to come from somewhere...right?

It came from her family.

Her mother  
Her father  
Her sibling's, all of which were there. Even her eldest's' wife, whom she had only just found out was heavily pregnant.

Pregnant.  
With twins.

They killed them.

All of them.

They hadn't just been killed. No. That wasn't where the true devastation was held.

They were all torn to shreds.

She could barely see through her tears, but she could make out the spears stuck in the floor, the tops of which held their heads.

Body parts littered the floor, scattered like they were leaving food for wild animals.

Her younger sisters' burnt frame was laid out on the floor.  
But her mother...

Her mother was crucified against the opposite wall. Her belly split open, wrists cut and hands and ankles pinned with long iron spikes but she wasn't bleeding.

Not blood at least.

Golden fluid cut streaks through the dark crimson of its canvas.

Ichor.

Golden Ichor.

The blood of the witches

And there, above her mothers head, written in that same shimmering gild, the words.

The fowl is next


End file.
